


in a foreign tongue

by addandsubtract



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Rudimentary Spanish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I like you like this,” Niall says. And then, cheeky, “Me gusta.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	in a foreign tongue

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, so, this is [jess](http://strikesoftly.livejournal.com)'s fault again. she linked me to that clip where niall speaks spanish and louis talks about how great it is, and I just couldn't help myself. so this is louis getting off on niall speaking spanish. if this were a real fic, this bit would take place toward the end, but what can you do, really? I'm skipping to the bit I wanted to write.
> 
> a huge word of warning: I haven't taken spanish for something like eight years, so some of it is probably wrong. feel free to correct me! I have no pride or stake in my spanish speaking/spelling abilities. if I did there would probably be a lot more of it.

Niall has both hands on Louis’s wrists, pressing them against the mattress over his head, straddling his waist. Louis feels on display, even though he’s still wearing the striped top from their interviews earlier, and the arch of his back has only exposed a small slice of skin between the hem and the waistband of his trousers. Niall is looking down at him with a crooked grin, shirtless and wet from his shower. Louis can see the drops of water like freckles, his pale, pale skin rosy-hued from the heat and steam. Louis had been napping, and now he’s pliant and easy in a way he knows he wouldn’t be otherwise.

“I like you like this,” Niall says. And then, cheeky, “Me gusta.”

Louis studied French in school, so the Spanish he knows he picked up from the telly or films, but he can’t even pronounce _quesadilla_ correctly. He never really knows what Niall is saying, but he finds it blindingly sexy and Niall uses it against him without mercy whenever he can.

“Twat,” Louis says, and makes a show of trying to pull his wrists away. Really he’s just pushing up into Niall to see where it gets him. Niall laughs, and leans in, momentarily, to kiss his cheek, wet and sloppy.

“Que quieres?” Niall asks, a question Louis not only doesn’t understand, but also probably doesn’t know the answer to. It doesn’t stop the heat from twisting in his belly at the hoarse sound of Niall’s voice. “Tienes muchos opciones.”

Niall had told Louis that his instructor was from Spain, and that this was why his esses were all soft in his mouth, like a lisp. Something about it makes Louis squirm, the way the words come out coiled like snakes. Niall bites into his jaw, water from his chest dripping onto Louis’s shirt, and all Louis can do is press up into him and let his mouth fall open. Niall’s skin is warm, and they have the night off – and probably an hour before Harry starts knocking on their hotel room door, trying to get them out and about. Louis wants to use the time wisely before he’s outside of this room and too pissed to do much of anything.

“You should kiss me,” he says, and it’s slightly embarrassing how breathless he sounds, because they haven’t done much of anything yet. It’s just Niall’s voice, and the steady weight of his body, and his wide, almost bashful grin.

“Bien,” Niall says, voice low and almost husky, “porque necesito besar.”

Then Niall is kissing him, and Louis is nothing if not ready for it. They haven’t been fooling around like this for very long, but Louis already knows Niall’s mouth, the way he licks in, teeth and tongue and eagerness, much too fucking accomplished. Louis’s gasp is muffled against Niall’s lips, and he twists his wrists in Niall’s grip. They are pushed together chest-to-chest, Niall’s knees on either side of Louis’s hips. 

There are few things that Louis likes more than being kissed and kissed like this, held and weighed down. They make out, slow and messy, for a long enough that Louis’s lips are starting to tingle, and he can’t help pushing up into Niall’s body, arousal buzzing underneath his skin like adrenaline. This is, of course, when Niall pulls away.

“I’ve mussed your hair,” Niall says, with a laugh.

“As if that’s my main concern at the mo,” Louis says, and arches his neck, trying to get Niall’s mouth back on him. “Come back here.”

“I like looking at you.” Niall leans in and presses a kiss, almost chaste and certainly too short, against Louis’s mouth. “You look fit like this.”

“And yet, you aren’t kissing me,” Louis says, aiming for dry and managing only whiny and breathless. Niall laughs, rubs his fingers up the inside of Louis’s wrists, and lean close until they’re sharing breath. Louis surges up, biting into Niall’s mouth and not letting him pull away.

Niall makes a noise, caught between surprised and pleased, and Louis knows that he has him now. He can’t help but feel accomplished. Niall’s fingers tighten on his wrists, and he kisses Louis back, no tease, just the force of how much Niall wants. Louis understands; he wants it right back.

After, they’ll curl up and nap until Harry wakes them. It’s not a terrible way to spend an evening.


End file.
